Obsession
by Nevillefan
Summary: Barty Crouch Jr. has had thirteen years in Azkaban to dwell on exactly how he ended up there. Alastor Moody. But now the Dark Lord needs him. He's the only one who can succeed. His master needs him. He will become Alastor Moody and help his master return.


_Disclaimer:_ JK Rowling is a genius and I'm just a fan. This was writte for Catie's (CatieBabey) Missing Moments Challenge.

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Obsession

He reached out a hand to the wet grass to steady himself. His toes were cramping from having squatted in one place for too long. He had endured worse. This was nothing compared to thirteen years locked up in Azkaban. This was nothing.

Nothing. Nothing.

He could endure much worse.

This was nothing. He had endured worse.

He was strong. A little discomfort was nothing. This was nothing.

Still, the air could have chosen to be a little bit warmer.

He thought of the annoying little piss-ant named Wormtail calling this an impossible task. He chuckled to himself. The Dark Lord didn't give impossible tasks. Only incompetent minions found a task required to be impossible.

He was not an incompetent minion. He was the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. He would succeed. It was just a matter of figuring out how. But that was why his master trusted him so, because he knew his clever servant would see that it was accomplished. He was the only one who could. He was special.

The "how" part of it had cause him to stumble, he would admit. Alastor Moody was overly cautious and proved to be a difficult target. The bastard's house, which he rarely left, was chock full of any anti-enemy trinkets ever invented. And that eye… He wasn't called Mad-Eye Moody for nothing. It bulged out like he was trying to resemble one half of a frog. It was some kind of magical orb set into the man's eye socket. Tricky little bugger seemed to be able to see right through solid walls. Twice already he had nearly been caught by the auror and his blasted eye.

But now he had it all figured out.

He had found a way to fool that eye. Quite by accident, in fact. After many trials and errors during the last week of surveillance he found that the man's bizarre eye had a weakness. The day before, when he had tried looking into the kitchen window, he had been about to be caught and out of pure instinct he had tried to defend himself. That blasted eye had a weakness! It could not see through shield charms. His future victim had turned back around without ever suspecting a thing even though Moody had been staring right at him!

He laughed at his own cleverness. It was so easy.

And now he sat in the darkness, surrounded by tall hedges on three sides with a shield charm cast out in front of him like a miniature wall to hide him. He intently watched the house across the street from his hiding spot where he knew Moody had taken up residence.

The grass was cold and wet with dew and a fog was quickly picking up density as the night wore on. But it was a worthwhile sacrifice. He was the only one who could do this and thinking of the praise his master would lavish upon him gave him warmth in the cold dampness.

He didn't like the fog. It reminded him of his time spent in Azkaban and the dementors that guarded it. He felt an involuntary shiver of cold that had nothing to do with the soggy air run an unpleasant course down his spine as he momentarily wallowed in the horrible memories of that place. They made him think such terrible things.

His mother.

His mother that loved him.

They hurt his mother.

Thirteen years he was held captive in that prison.

Thirteen years of nothing but cold and sadness. And fear. Fear all the time. Much of the fear being without a cause, aside from the presence of feeding dementors, but just a terrible aching fear for the sake of fear. Fear rotating through his mind on a whirlwind of repetition. Fear for his mother who loved him. Sadness for her played over in his mind again and again and again and again and again and… Always sadness and fear. No peace. Never peace. Never.

Never.

Thirteen years of obsession. It was his fault. It was Auror Alastor Moody who put him there. He was the reason he was incarcerated. It was Alastor Moody who arrested him and convinced a father to betray his own son. It was that prick, Alastor-fucking-Moody. It was his fault that a loving mother died of a broken heart for her lost son after she sacrificed herself to help him escape that awful place.

Soon Alastor Moody would get what he deserved.

How they dared to oppose the greatest wizard of all time, how they dared to side with mudbloods instead of their own kind. How all those at his trial had betrayed both him and the Dark Lord.

Blood traitors, the whole lot of them!

They are all responsible!

Never peace. It was their turn to know fear. It was their turn to live the sadness. Never peace.

He felt oddly hot against the bleak weather as he allowed the rage to consume him. But soon they would pay, they would all pay for their crimes. And it would all begin with the man sitting somewhere in the little house across the street.

The return of the Dark Lord would begin with Alastor Moody.

The whole plan hinged on his ability to defeat Moody. He was the only one who could do this. The Dark Lord had told him that himself.

"Barty," his master had said in a whisper that was almost inaudible, "my most loyal servant."

He had knelt beside the chair where his master rested. He was so fragile. Barty knew what it was to never have peace. His master knew what it was to live the sadness.

"All of my friends have abandoned me," Lord Voldemort managed to take a wheezy breath into his deformed chest. "They have rejected me, Barty."

Barty had wept at such a thing, he begged his master to not feel sadness.

"But you are here. You have not rejected me. I need you, Barty. It all depends on you. Albus Dumbledore has asked the auror, Alastor Moody, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. You know Alastor Moody better than anyone, don't you, Barty?" He took several shallow breaths before he had gained enough strength to continue, "You must take his place."

His beloved master was so weak. The piss-ant called Wormtail was off cowering in a corner, useless as usual. So unable to help. Barty could help. Barty knew better than anyone what it was to feel so much pain. He knew Alastor Moody. He knew what it was to feel such a hatred for a person.

"There you will find Harry Potter. He is responsible for what I am now. I need the boy, Barty. Bring him to me. Alive. His blood will be the end of my suffering. You are the only one able to help me, Barty. Please, help me."

For the last seven days he had watched Alastor Moody, waiting for the chance to present itself. It was all so simple now that he knew how it could be done. But he had to wait for just the right moment. If he acted too rashly, the old codger would go into an even deeper paranoid recluse than he already was. No, he had to wait for just the right moment.

Barty could see Moody through the windows as he moved from one room to another, attempting to discreetly peer out to the street from behind the curtains. The bastard knew someone was out there, though he couldn't see beyond the shield charm Barty had erected. That in itself was proof enough that someone was watching him. The small, empty void by the hedges across the street where his eye could not penetrate would be obvious enough of a hint; enough to bring him out from his house to investigate and give Barty the perfect opportunity that he needed.

His stomach rumbled painfully. He clutched his throbbing abdomen but welcomed the pain. It kept him alert. It had been a few days since he had eaten last. And anyway, he didn't want food to be in his stomach when he was going though the change. It was bad enough that he was going to have to impersonate this traitor, Barty didn't think he could handle the humiliation of vomiting up his dinner as well.

Moody peeked out from behind the sitting room curtains again, straight to Barty's hiding place behind the hedges. Barty quickly checked that his shield was still in place and relaxed. It had taken him long enough to find that fucking bastard in the first place, he wasn't about to lose him now by panicking.

Moody poked his nose out from the curtain again. Twice in the last ten minutes.

It wouldn't be long now. Barty was positive it wouldn't be long.

He checked that his shield charm was still intact. Of course it was. But it was better to be sure. He couldn't have it malfunction when Moody finally worked up the nerve to come out from his little hidey-hole. He had to eventually come out. Right?

Right.

Eventually.

Thirteen years he spent in that prison, he could stand a few days' time to wait for the perfect moment. He thirsted for the revenge and he could feel the blood in his veins heat with the lust for it. It was all so simple. Not long now.

He was chosen specially for this. He would succeed. He had to. He was the only one who could. He was special. His master had said so himself. His master needed him. His master loved him. Even his own father had not loved him like his master loved him. He was special. His master had told him so. He would do anything for the Dark Lord.

He spent many of his pre-Azkaban years being chased by that oaf. Barty knew him. His habits, his mannerisms. They were second nature to him now. He had had thirteen years to fixate all of his thoughts on that man. He was the reason Barty was sent to Azkaban. It was his bloody fault!

Barty had had many hours to obsess over it while in that place. To obsess over him. He knew Moody inside and out. Thirteen years of obsession would help him. And it was all so simple! The Dark Lord had chosen well, he was the only one who could do this the right way.

His master was giving him this present. He would not disappoint his master. He was chosen for this. He was the only one. Only him.

Only him.

The only one.

Thirteen years.

He chuckled to himself with the heat of passion, a lust boiling through his body. He needed this. And the Dark Lord was to thank for it.

He checked the shield charm again.

A shield charm! He laughed out loud. It was all so easy!

The front door to the little house across the street cracked open. He tried not to move. Moody couldn't see past his shield but there was nothing wrong with that bastard's hearing.

The door opened a bit wider.

It was time! Barty had to cover his mouth tightly to keep from letting out the laughter that bubbled inside him. Thirteen years. It was time!

Moody stuck his wand through the gap and Barty felt his shield shake with the force of the spell sent his way. Whatever curse that had been, Moody wasn't mucking about. Barty checked to make sure his shield charm was still intact. If he was going to use that as his defense, it couldn't fail during an all out Moody inflicted assault.

Another hit smacked the hell out of the shield and Barty could feel the very air around him vibrate but the shield didn't shatter.

It was all so easy! He didn't know why he hadn't thought of this thirteen years ago! A shield charm! He couldn't stop himself from laughing, loudly this time.

Moody stomped out from behind the door, brandishing his wand as if it were a mighty sword. "I know you're there," he growled fiercely. "Show yourself!"

Barty made himself wait. As soon as he let go of the shield it would disappear and he would be visible.

"Come out you sneaky coward," Moody snarled. He sent another blast to Barty's shield.

Coward?

_Coward?_

He had survived thirteen years in Azkaban, not Moody. Alastor Moody sent people there, he never knew what it was to feel only sadness and fear. Never peace. Sadness and fear on an unending loop of despair. Moody was the coward! He wouldn't send people there if he knew what it was!

Moody's the fucking coward!

Barty raised his wand and prepared to act quickly. No moment to spare. He brought the words up to his tongue, ready to speak them.

"Come out!" Moody shouted. He stabbed at the hedges with his wand, nearly poking him in the eye. The point of the wand came at him through the leafy branches again and Barty fell backward with a small shout. Hearing the shout, Moody blasted a hole through the hedges and came crashing through, searching around beyond the void to see his hidden spy.

The magical eye rolled around trying to see beyond the void of the shield charm but Moody's good eye locked on the sight of Barty fallen on his back to the wet grass.

No time to spare.

Barty dropped his shield and a stream of blue light shot from his wand, straight to Moody.

It was all so easy! Alastor Moody never even saw it coming! Why hadn't he thought of this thirteen years ago?

Alastor Moody quickly shrank before Barty's eyes and things began popping out all over. His magical eye bounced along the pavement and came to rest in the dirt where the road met the grass, his wooden leg fell over and nearly crushed the shrinking man that was now the size of a large rabbit.

He brought out a large pickle jar he had stored away in the hedge where he'd been waiting and placed it over Moody as he continued shrinking to be only as tall as Barty's index finger. From behind the glass, Moody ranted and raved and pounded against his new prison, which was too heavy for the little man to move.

Captured! Alastor Moody was captured!

Barty danced around the jar, laughing and calling out to Moody, making sure to tap the glass as he went. It made a wonderful _tink_ sound and Barty cheered all the more. "Thought you'd give me a good what for, eh Mad-Eye?"

From under the thick glass of the pickle jar, Moody made a rude gesture with his hands and sent what must have been extremely vile words Barty's way. He could hear only silence as the small man behind the thick glass waved around his hands and mouthed unheard words.

The shrinking charm would only last an hour. Barty knew that whatever he needed to do, it must be done before then. He slipped the metal lid under the opening of the jar, being careful to shake it to keep Moody from escaping out the crack as he righted the jar.

Back to the house was where he needed to go.

He tucked the jar under his arm and grabbed up the eye and leg and found Moody's wand lying in a neighbor's front lawn. Inside the house of Alastor Moody was not much different from any other muggle dwelling he had seen so far but a foe-glass hung on the wall and several sneakoscopes littered a table. He knew there were more trinkets about the house. There had to be. A trunk with several locks sat in the far corner of the sitting room. Barty lifted the top lid, then the next layer, then the next. He found that the trunk had seven different compartments and the seventh was deep enough to drop Moody into and he wouldn't be able to climb his way out without help.

Barty sat the eye and the wand on a side table beside a tall brass lamp and propped the leg against an arm chair. He held the jar up to his nose and attempted to bring himself face to face with the tiny, and spitting mad wizard.

"The Dark Lord thanks you for you patience while we take the time to do away with Harry Potter and we hope your stay is as comfortable as possible."

He laughed again as Moody pounded pointlessly on the glass with his little fists.

He sat the jar on the floor next to the conveniently available trunk. He had to make sure everything was in place. The shrinking charm would only last a little while and everything had to be ready before then.

He pulled a large flask of muddy-looking sludge from another pocket of his coat and sat it beside the eye and wand. This wouldn't last him long. He would have to make more but this was all his master could procure at the moment.

Besides, it would be easier to make more when he had the face of Alastor Moody than if he had the face of Barty Crouch Jr.

He rifled through cupboards and drawers around the small house and came across a length of rope stored away in a kitchen drawer full of random junk.

He hurried back to the front room and found Moody still in the pickle jar, trying to stretch up to reach the lid. Barty chuckled at the sight. He still had another ten centimeters to go and without his other leg he kept toppling over.

The great auror, Alastor Moody done in by a simple shield charm and a shrinking spell!

Still chuckling, Barty wrapped one end of the rope around the wide neck of the jar and knotted it. He had to make sure to get it tight so it didn't slip off halfway down and crash at the bottom. He needed Moody alive so he could harvest bits of him for the potion. He tugged the knot one more time, just for good measure and lowered the jar into the trunk until he heard it clink against the bottom.

Pulling to the right with the rope caused the jar to tip over onto its side. Moody couldn't help rolling around with each little bump and tumble.

It was dark down in that hole so Barty lit his wand with the lumos spell. He could see him. He looked like a tiny bug from where he stood but that wouldn't last much longer. The spell should wear off any minute now but even then he would never be able to reach the top.

Moody was staring up at him from inside the jar.

"Well," Barty shouted down at him, "what are you waiting for? Get on with it!"

Tiny, index finger-sized Moody crossed his tiny arms over his tiny chest and defiantly grimaced up at Barty.

This was nothing. Moody was nothing. Never peace. He had to make sure Moody knew that. He thought of sending down the Cruciatus Curse but pulled back on his lust for bloodshed. So much violence would kill the little man. He needed Moody alive. It would have to wait until he wasn't tiny anymore.

"Have it your way," Barty shrugged, "but you'll be sorry when that shrinking spell wears off and you're still in that jar."

Moody huffed—a sound Barty couldn't hear—and hobbled his way through the mouth of the large jar.

Barty quickly pulled on the rope and lifted the jar out before the little man could snatch it and climb out.

"Accio flask," he held out his hand and waited for the silver flask to find its way to him. That bastard prided himself on being paranoid, always making to sure to change his routine and never following the same path twice. But he was terribly predictable. He was well known for drinking only from the flask he kept on his person at all times. Always in the same right hand pocket of his robes. A summoning spell won't work unless one knows where to find what one is trying to summon. Yes, Barty knew right where to find that blasted flask.

A tiny, hard object the size of a small jewel from a woman's ring flew into the palm of his hand. A tiny flask to go along with a tiny Moody! Barty laughed and set it on the table next to the eye.

Bored, he picked up the small orb that resembled an over-sized eyeball. Dirt and bits of gravel still stuck to it and he rubbed it on his coat to shine it up. Curious little object. The pupil didn't contract when he held it into the light and it was hard like a glass marble but large, the size of a billiard ball. The damned thing was also heavier than it appeared. Perhaps the reason Mood limped had very little to do with his missing leg after all. It might have all be due to this heavy object pulling weight all to one side.

What exactly did Mad-Eye Moody see anyway? Barty held it up to his eye and got the vaguest sensation of looking out the back of his own head. He pulled back and found that he was looking through the iris portion so it resembled an eyeball looking straight back at him.

He snickered at the trick and turned it to the normal way. Perhaps it would look clearer when it was actually in his head instead of seeing everything through a thick, purple fog.

He went to the bedroom and rifled through the cupboard. He hated Moody's taste in clothes. Everything was so…Moody. Drab, musty, practical. No refinement at all. He grabbed up an outfit that looked like all the other choices and changed out of his own clothes. Moody's were too big for him and they hung to the floor and beyond his fingertips. That would be fixed when he took the polyjuice potion.

He heard a noise from the sitting room and found that the silver flask he had taken from Moody had returned to normal size and fallen off the little table. The eye had been knocked over as the growing flask bumped into it and it was now rolling across the room to and knocked against the stone flooring of the fireplace hearth.

It was time.

Barty went to the trunk and saw Moody still far down below but no longer tiny. What a waste. He made such an adorable tiny person. Barty laughed loudly and felt a little jig that needed danced take control of his feet. He danced and laughed, briefly using the empty coat tree by the front door for a dancing partner. It made a very wooden partner indeed; no good at dancing with a man of his caliber.

He heard Moody's loud voice call from the darkness and the trunk shook a bit.

Alastor Moody was trying to escape.

He would have to make sure to keep the lid locked at all times after he was through.

Moody's clothes smelled funny. A strange mix of onions and popcorn. Unpleasant.

Unpleasant.

He would just have to get used to it. He was the only one who could do this. His master had told him so and his master would never have lied to him. The Dark Lord loved his loyal servant. He was the only one who could do this. He knew Alastor Moody inside and out.

The only one. Chosen specially by the Dark Lord himself.

He could do this. He was the only one who could.

He would get used to the smell of onions and popcorn on clothing. He would eat onions and popcorn if he had to. He would, he was special. He had thirteen years of obsession to help.

The only one. His master knew about Azkaban and the reason he was sent there. His master knew he would be able to capture Moody. His master loved him and wanted him to live out his need.

Barty didn't bother to suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside him. Who was to hear it? Moody trapped in his own trunk?

It was time!

The trunk shook violently again with the force of his attempts to free himself. Barty looked down on him. "Not so tough are you, old man?"

Moody looked up. His one eye was normal but the other eye looked like it had caved in on itself. "Hello, Jr." Moody squinted up with the one good eye. "Didn't enjoy your stay in Azkaban, I see?"

"Bit cold this time of year, actually," Barty grinned down at the pathetic auror.

"You'll never get away with this, you know. Somebody's bound to know I've gone missing."

Barty chuckled to himself. The bastard still thought he had the upper hand. "They won't, actually. Know you've gone missing, I mean. I'll be there as living proof that you are your regular, cantankerous self and that nothing is at all abnormal or worthy of suspicion. I will be you, Auror Moody."

"Ex-Auror," Moody growled up to him, "I won't have you or anybody else thinking I'm out of retirement."

"Ex-Auror?" Barty unconsciously showed his surprise. The greatest dark wizard catcher of recent history is no longer a dark wizard catcher. That was news. Barty had been locked up for thirteen years, after all. A lot of things were news to him lately. And Moody was rather crabby about the fact that others didn't seem to get the point. "Thanks for that. It'll come in handy."

He picked up Moody's wand and flicked it. It didn't work quite as well as his own wand but it would have to do. Actually, his own wand wasn't even his own wand. His own wand had been taken and smashed to bits when he was sent to Azkaban. Wormtail had stolen a new one and given it to Barty as though this somehow made up for being a complete nincompoop.

He turned Moody's wand over in his hands, trying to get used to the feel of it. "First thing's first, I suppose," Barty announced and flicked the wand in Moody's direction. He heard the old man yell with the pain of having a chunk of hair being ripped from his scalp and caught the bit of Moody as it flew up to his hand.

It was for the Dark Lord. His master had praised his cleverness. He was the only one who could do this. Nobody else had ever captured Alastor Moody, let alone the skill to think they could even attempt such a thing.

He dropped the essence of Moody into the bottle his master had given him and watched the muddy liquid inside burst with a small, fiery explosion and settle to a putrid yellow-coloured sludge. That was odd. Polyjuice potion didn't usually spontaneously combust. And it smelled worse than it looked.

This wouldn't be fun.

But he was the only one who could do it.

The only one strong enough. He was special. What would the Dark Lord say if he found his most faithful servant flinching at a bit of polyjuice potion?

He went over to the mirror in the hall and examined his features. People had called him handsome when he was younger. He had been popular with the girls at school. Azkaban destroyed that as well. Thirteen years in a place that sucks away your life changes a person. And though he had to leave his youth behind, he was lucky enough to have at least escaped with his sanity.

Barty broke out into boisterous laughter until his eyes watered. A shield charm brought down the great Mad-Eye Moody!

He said goodbye to the self he saw in the mirror. It would be a while before his reflection showed the true him again. He put the bottle to his lips. He wouldn't hesitate. He wouldn't be accused of being repulsed by such a potion. The smell of it nearly made him gag. It was a good idea to not have eaten anything before attempting this. Dinner definitely would have revisited him at this point. What would the Dark Lord say if he could see his most faithful servant gagging on polyjuice potion? He was no coward. He was the only one strong enough. The only one. His master had told him so.

Barty took a mouthful of the off-colour yellow sludge and forced himself to swallow. He felt rather pleased that he had been able to swallow it down but it only got worse from there. He could feel it slide down his throat, past his chest, and hit the bottom of his stomach with a squirmy sickness.

That could have been Moody yelling from his trunk prison. Perhaps that was just the sound of Barty's own screams of pain that he was hearing. He felt his insides come to life and writhe around to places where they didn't belong. He clenched his stomach in his arms and felt himself drop to the hard floor but the pain didn't ease. His skin bubbled and pulsated with growing cellulite and muscles that Barty didn't usually have and he felt that even his skin was changing texture.

A pain began at the back of his head and pulled forward to his sinuses, intensifying in pain with each passing millisecond and he realized his eye was dissolving out of his own head. He involuntarily grabbed at the pain in his head but finding out that his eye was now completely gone only made him scream more.

What seemed like a lifetime later, Barty felt his insides stop squirming about and his skin no longer craweled over a transforming body. It was over?

He opened his eyes but found that seeing was quite a challenge. One half of his vision was void of any existence. He felt the side of his head and found his eye socket unusually vacant.

The eye.

Barty looked over with his one-sided vision and spotted the orb with the bright blue iris still sitting patiently on the table where he'd left it.

Using a nearby wooden chair, he managed to haul himself upright and promptly fell over again. He smacked his elbow on the floor on the way down and knocked down a pointless little statue that sat along the wall. It crashed and broke off a piece of a plaster…nose?

"Fuck all," he grumbled as he laid, panting and trying to stop the ceiling from spinning in circles.

Of course he'd toppled over. He had tried to stand on a leg that was only half there. He didn't have a leg to stand on.

Barty laughed at his own joke.

"Problems up there?" Moody called out from the bottom of the trunk.

"Nothing I can't handle," Moody's voice answered back. He laughed when he realized Moody's voice had come out of his own mouth.

He rolled over and used the wooden leg of the chair to pull himself forward. His whole leg helped a little but most of the progress of his slow crawl came from pulling with his arms. By the time he reached the table, that had not seemed so far away before now, his elbows and abdomen burned with the effort of dragging himself across the floor.

"Constant vigilance!" he called out to himself and gave one last push to reach the fake leg, which he used to pull up the rest of his body to a sitting position. "Constant vigilance," he said again. He had heard that phrase out of Alastor Moody's mouth many times. It felt good to stuff them back in again.

The replica leg was held onto the stub with a series of brown leather straps and buckles. Barty had never really appreciated the ability to see with two eyes. With one side of his vision completely gone he found securing the straps more difficult than it really should have been. He could only see one half of his straps at one time and a whole side on the right that couldn't be seen at all.

Of course his wand would have helped the situation but it was still in the hall where he'd dropped it during the big change.

The eye was up on the table out of reach of his fingertips. That blasted table had seemed much shorter when he hadn't been sitting helpless on the floor.

But eventually he did manage to buckle the last of the straps and used the armchair he had been leaning on to pull himself standing.

The eye. He rolled it between his fingers and picked off a bit of gravel that had missed the previous examination. How did it go in? He held it up to his good eye. The thick purple fog wasn't any different from before now that he was seeing things with Moody's eye. How did the bloody thing go in? He couldn't walk around Hogwarts with half of his face caved in.

No, he knew Alastor Moody better than anyone and half a face would never be acceptable.

Perhaps if he just shoved it in…

There was a squishy popping sound and the glass eye sucked out of Barty's fingers and popped itself into the void where once there was Moody's second good eye. The sensation of having a full range of vision so suddenly returning was disorienting and he had to hold onto the chair to keep from toppling again.

Undignified. Bloody undignified. What would his beloved master say if he saw his most loyal servant in such an unbalanced manner? He was special. He would not wobble. Barty tested his steps and found the fake leg to be rather stiff. Perhaps Moody's limp really did come from that blasted leg after all.

He looked around the room. Without turning his head he examined all four walls of the room and looked up into the attic above him. So it really did see through solid objects if he wanted to! Certain objects seemed to glow with a purple haze. The trunk, the foeglass that hung on the wall, the sneakoscopes on the table, and various other things that had been stored away in other rooms. They all glowed purpleish. Objects he knew to have magical properties.

He hobbled his way into the hall and picked up his wand, which he noticed also glowed with a purple haze. It didn't work any better now than before but at least Dumbledore wouldn't be asking why Alastor Moody suddenly chose to get a new one. It would have to do. And he would have to make sure to take a drink of potion every hour without fail or everybody would know.

He looked up to see Alastor Moody staring straight back at him in the mirror and jumped back. He touched his wrinkled face, he felt the eye that stuck out prominently from the side of his head. He watched the Moody in the mirror doing the same.

It was all so easy! Thirteen years of waiting. Barty laughed and watched as Moody laughed with him. Dumbledore was going to pay for his crimes against the Dark Lord and who he thought to be a friend would be the one to take him down! It was all so easy! His master knew his most loyal servant would succeed. Revenge was, at last, his to be taken.

"Constant vigilance!" he shouted and smashed the reflection in front of him with his fist.

The End.


End file.
